Sometimes I take for granted how much of a failsafe music can be. Music is an amazing thing. I was watching a video of Gavin DeGraw singing "I Don't Want To Be" just him and a piano, and I got terribly choked up. I miss being fearless enough to walk into a church sanctuary and fussing about with the piano.

Music is freedom, it's a big tree to dance in the shadows of. It's a place you can curl up and rest on. I keep forgetting. I do. Truth and honesty lie in music. Lies and walls have no true place in music. It's this "thing" God created to be used for His glory...He dwells in it. How can it become this perverted thing? I don't understand!

Music, the essence of true music is this beautiful thing. That's why everyone's so drawn to it...that's why we package it and ship it and sell it for such a high price. Standing in the presence of true music is impossible...it's supposed to make your knees go weak...it's supposed to let you abandon yourself. That's why Lucifer was so struck with the power of it. He thought he held the power of the world in his hand because music is so...gah!

I can understand how God would love a joyful noise...but even moreso, I could see how God could commune and dwell in music because when people sing, when people play...when they truely do those things, they're giving everything. It's impossible to give half of yourself when you're letting music drip from your tongue, your fingers, your skin...that's why people can be so afraid of music, so afraid of opening their mouths, of picking up an instrument.

I went a spendin' today online. Got them essentials that I've been droolin over for months...in a good month's time as well, I should have me my own "Jesus Helps Me Trick People" tee-shirt. Woo! I've always been an ornery one, but I can't wait to wear this to church on a Sunday morning.

I've also made a CafePress account for myself and am thinking of possibly opening up a teeeeeeny tiny store. I mean, I know I'm no fascenating person, but if I can sell one more pink shirt to the world, I'm gonna try. The world needs more pink.

In relatively sane news, I've put in for a new job schedule, this one would have me going to bed at decent hours of the night if you can believe that one. Maybe my posts would stop being short stories and actually be well-thought out thises or thats on life--some meat to chew on.

In his day, Raleigh was a dream. He’d spend his summers sleeping out on the ball field under the stars, or standing on the pitcher’s mound. He would only head homeward during the occasional storm and for three squares a day. I personally was most fascinated with how well Raleigh kept up his hygiene in spite of sleeping with ants and night crawlers. He was a peculiar boy with a flare for living passionately, and what he was most passionate about was baseball. I knew nothing of the sport myself, but I knew enough of the townsfolk, and who they spoke most of. Raleigh was one of the greats…even Old Chicken Lips said so once. Mayor Mayer once mentioned, “That bo-ah is single-handedly unitin’ the county,” to my momma in the hushed tones of casual conversation. I thought all the whispering was odd, but more so how Mayor Mayer was always over, talking to my momma.

After the first summer, we were all thankful it was over. That boy being alone in a poorly lit area had everyone on their toes playing watchdog. After the second year, we established that it was proper to put up a single streetlight. Year three, we fenced the ball field in. Year four, Raleigh was joined on the weekends by his team—coach Truman included. Year five, three of the older boys joined Raleigh in his quest. Year six, we were undefeated. My momma would let me sit out on the bleachers until around ten. Mayor Mayer would be gone by then, and daddy would be home around eleven. I’d fall asleep looking over the ball field from my top bunk. The trailer was a double wide, but a trailer nonetheless, and made for a tousled night’s sleep. I spent the majority of those summer nights awake until the wee hours of the morning, and waking only a few hours later. Raleigh had my every attention.

Raleigh also had the attention of every girl west of Hanover. Girls would come down all the way from Crete to see our boy. All the girls agreed he was a looker, but I, to this day, don’t remember a thing about Raleigh other than my momma telling me that he was, “Out of your league.” Of course, I figured out she was a boozehound long before I gathered she was a cheat, too. Year seven, the entire team spent the summer on the field. The boys made it to state and to nationals. I still have the news clippings announcing their defeat by some team from Nowhere, Montana. It was still a damned amazing summer. Year eight, Raleigh discovered the girls that had, years before, discovered him. Half an hour of Spin The Bottle and I got one kiss out of the entire game, and from Jenny Morris, no less.

Year nine though, year nine was my year. Raleigh and I were graduated seniors, and he was soon to head off to USC on a baseball scholarship, though not without one last summer. At a time where most kids would find themselves trying to break into the adult world, I found myself clinging to those young, summer days. No doubt it was a painful place to remain. I was the daughter of the town slut and the daughter of a dignified laughingstock, it was indeed a painful place to be stuck, but had I been in a better place, I’d have missed that summer. Everyone jumped ship on us. All my friends found summer jobs two counties over, or took the summer for travel. All Raleigh’s teammates left early for school (with the exception of Sam Jones, he joined the Navy). So I guess our friendship that summer was really by default, but it was better than nothing.

Two days before I knew Raleigh was slated to bus off, I was finally ready to damn it all. I wanted to see what had been such a big fuss all those years ago. So, I took my daddy’s sleeping bag and flannels, my fuzzy slippers, and my pillow to the ball field around ten and dropped myself off right next to Raleigh.

It was his sister’s room, in his hand a mentholated cigarette, half sitting out of the second floor window. The fag, barely held between his fingers, pointed to his denim knee and threatened to break ashes that would sear pock holes in his jeans. Jack brought the filter to his lips and dragged a sigh. The suburban sky was green-gray and his toes were getting wet in the rain. His other foot rested on his sister’s window seat and grabbed at the pillows with his toes. A small FM radio sat in front of him in the window frame and littered the damp sky with “pure eighties.” The station was laughable, but would occasionally play something not written or sung by a hair band. Jack reached out his empty hand and let the rain gather a pool in his hand.

Like a commotion Mae turned with the curb and started running down the hill, her hair soaked through and knotted around her shoulders. The curb gravel proved dangerous under her blocky, orthopedic-like shoes, but she rode it all in stride.

Jack caught the gravelsound in the distance and searched the neighborhood until he saw her at midhill. The girl was long-legged and wobbly. She scuffed down the hill with no vain attempt to hide her inability to run pretty. Jack took the water cupped in his hand and threw it into his hair, leaning out of the window, and scratched his dusty brown curls around until his hand was dry. At the bottom of the hill, she made no attempt to stop, but kept running up toward his house. Jack sat plainly uninterested and curious, staring as she got closer.

Sliding into the driveway, Mae stopped and looked up at the shirtless boy.

“Are you Jill’s brother?”

“What’s it to ya?”

“Does Jill live here?”

Jack barely saw the girl’s white eyelashes and slit his eyes. She was strange as a runner, and a stranger at that. Jillian wouldn’t be home for another three hours.

“Yeah, but she’s not here.”

“Do you know how long it’ll be before she’s back?”

“Should be fifteen minutes. If you like, you can let yourself in.” It was a blatant lie—completely unintentional, partially apathetic, but she had white eyelashes. Jack reached over to his bare, olive shoulder and scratched. He cursed his cigarette in Portuguese and stuck his lips out for another drag. He pulled his leg in the window and dropped it to the floor, drying it off on the carpet. He grabbed his sister’s kitten-shaped ashtray and polished out the cigarette, leaving it on the windowsill with the radio. He blew and brushed the smoke out the window and closed up the room.

Mae was at the foot of the staircase when she caught the boy crossing the upstairs hall. He was maybe two or three years younger than her, she thought, and okay to look at, at least with his shirt off. He stepped into a room for only a moment and walked back out with a shirt in his hand.

Jack thought he caught the girl looking, but opted to give her the benefit of the doubt, he was only seventeen, his sister was twenty-three, at home from school for spring break…this girl had to be about the same age. He made his way down the stairs, “Yeah, she’s at the dentist’s right now. She’s had a toothache for the last three weeks. Don’t know why she waited so long to go. She’s a damn dental assistant for God’s sake.” He found it easy to tell stories to strangers. The dental assistant was true enough, but her toothache was made up…Jill was actually watching her fiancé making an ass of himself in front of a coffeehouse crowd and spit of preteen groupies.

“Oh?”

“She left about two hours ago. Unless the dentist decided to go after the thing, she should be home real soon.”

“Oh.”

Mae followed the shirtless boy into the kitchen. He stopped in front of the dishwasher and lifted the shirt over his head. She stopped breathing for a moment as the hair stretched over his armpits, he was considerably nice to look at for a mere boy. When he pulled his head through the long-john shirt, she lifted an eyebrow. “You should stop that, you’re making me feel old.” He turned his wet, curly head toward her, but didn’t catch what she’d said.

“You wanna wait here?”

“I can.”

“Well, you want anything while you’re waiting? We got oranges and bottled water, and that’s about it.”

“Ummm…an orange?”

Jack reached behind the girl and grabbed an orange the size of a heart attack. With a nod, he handed it to her, “I’m Jack.”

“Thanks.” Mae took the orange and tugged at her undershirt. She had taken off her shoes at the door, and her socks slid easy along the linoleum. She put the movie on the counter and ran the orange under the faucet.

“Interesting choice. Were you two gonna watch that?” Jack eyed the movie with feigned interest, opening a cabinet and grabbing a plastic cup. The girl turned away from him and mumbled something as she wiped off her hands and the orange with a paper towel. “Huh?”

“Where’s the trash can?”

“Oh, it’s over here. What’s your name?”

“I’m Mae. I met your sister in Life Drawing at the university.”

“You met her drawing penises and stuff?”

“Well…I guess I did.”

Jack shook the image from his head and walked to the den with a glass of water in one hand and the movie in the other. He put the glass on the side table next to the couch and shook the movie from its sleeve. He could hear her flop on the couch and rip into the orange peel. Grabbing one of the remotes, he popped the movie in the vhs and turned the TV on. Pushing play, he turned around to see her sitting Indian style with a paper towel in her lap. He walked to the couch and sat beside her and pulled his heels up to rest on the edge of the couch like he was sitting in a really short barstool.

“Do you get along with your sister?”

“Not as often as we should…”

“Hm.” Mae flicked some orange peel out from under her fingernail and watched the movie fade in.

The den was all white save for the two figures on the couch and the entertainment system. Orange smell permeated the room as another bit of skin was peeled off the enormous fruit. Foreign voices filled the empty rooms as the TV echoed through the house. Rain tapped against the sliding glass door. The movie went along in stillness and ended in silence.

“You two were gonna watch that?”

“No. Jill just wanted to borrow it.”

“What?”

“Yeah, but I’m always up for it.”

Jack stood up and rewound the movie. Standing beside the TV, he watched the girl as she bundled up the napkin in her lap and stood up. He couldn’t shake his head as he had just popped in the movie without thinking. As she walked toward the kitchen, he noticed that as funny as she ran, she walked like a woman. Also, she wore navy blue… Jack was sworn to the idea that any girl who wore navy blue was easy to get along with. On this girl, it just made her blond hair look as white as her eyelashes.

“So, you’re Jill’s brother?”

“I thought we’d established that.”

“I was just saying.” Mae yelled from the kitchen, dumping the bundle of orange peels in the trashcan. She leaned back against the counter and found herself wondering. “Is she going to be back any time soon?”

“Probably not.”

“Oh. And you’re sure she’s your sister?”

“Most of the time. When I was little, I swore up and down she was adopted.”

Mae walked back into the den and leaned against the entryway. “Why’d you say she’d only be fifteen minutes?”

“I dunno.” Jack leaned over and took the tape from the VCR and put it back in its sleeve. He stood up and looked her in the eyes, “You have white eyelashes.”

“Most people would have just told the truth.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No, you’re Jill’s brother.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, at least now I have no doubt.” Mae smiled, remembering the day in Life Drawing class when Jill took a naked forty-ish year old man and repositioned him so he’d be easier to draw. One never felt so awkward before without realizing it.

“Do you really smile this often?”

“Usually more.”

“Okay.” Jack looked away, walked to the dinning room, and set the movie on the table. He quickly adjusted himself, with no one being in the room, and moved back into the den. The girl had left the entryway and moved to the staircase, shoes in hand. “You goin?”

“Is your sister gonna be here any time soon?”

“No.”

“Should I stay then?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, I could, but then, I have no clue who you are.” Mae untangled the first knot and slipped a shoe on. She looked up to see the boy scratching his curly mop hair and watching the front door.

“I’m Jack.”

“You told me that already.”

“I’ve never seen someone with white eyelashes before.” Jack watched as the girl looked up from tying her shoe and they caught eyes. He bent over and sat on his feet. She was pretty. He noticed she had large doe eyes and small mouth, nothing impressive, but nice looking in the moment.

“Thanks?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go then.” Mae briefly curled her lip and wiped her hands on her jeans. As she stood, so did the boy. “Nice to meet you, Jack.” She stuck out her hand. Ignoring her hand, he leaned over and kissed her briefly.

“See ya.”

“What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“You kissed me?”

“You’re not offended.” Jack turned and walked back up the stairs without hurry. As he reached his sister’s bedroom he could hear the front door open and slam closed. He went back to the window seat and opened the window into the rain. Jack fished out the mentholated cigarette pocketed inside some ashes with his thick fingers and heard the gravelsound again.

So...I'm thinking of going to college...and I haven't told my own father, the one man who would crap his pants if he heard. It'd be a two year business program--a step in the right direction if I want to open that restaurant...or even a bed and breakfast. It's all part of this new ten year plan I've made. It's scarry, scarry, scarry. I'm looking up costs at the moment. My mom has a program at work that might pay for the whole thing. They'd pay up to $8-10,000 and it's a $7,000 program, thus it would not interfere with the whole paying off debts in two-three years part--which would be ideal.

Boys and girls, I've done the unthunkable!!! (Yes, the unthunkable.) I have crocheted myself a thin scarf. It's pretty in loo of its many flaws, a stitch too big her, thread unraveled a bit there...it's all good, yo! She's pretty pink and magenta and periwinkle. She was one of those skeins of yarn that was multicolored to begin with. I like her.

And for my next feet, I shall finish my actual scarf, scarf. She's white and will be decorated with multi-colored tassles and knots and whatnot. I'm terribly excited. BAH! So excited I could burst (but not really).

I love my friendly, new-found art sites. If you've never visited Exploding Dog, Devoted Bee, or Lather, Rinse, Repeat, you're missing out, my friends. They're nifty little art sites that make my day. They're non-offensive (as opposed to the two comic sites I have on the side being circumstancially offensive) and are likely to at least make you half-smile--which in my opinion is sometimes much better than a full smile.